


Embrace

by iluvaqt



Series: True Heart [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Post-Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 13:49:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7717264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iluvaqt/pseuds/iluvaqt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaime regrets sending her off on their quest for what it's cost her, even if the woman herself has no regrets. But for the rest of his days he'll make it up to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Embrace

There are perks to having a strong woman for a companion. Whatever labour is done with half the effort in less time because the work is done with equal strength. She promised to fulfill his oath, to be his sword against the darkness, to restore his honour, her pledge and valour were a testament to the strength of not only her body but her will. 

He could not clearly recall a time when sleep had come so easily. Nor a time where so few hours snatched under threat of danger had ever left him well rested. Such a time had certainly been well before Cersei had married and he was unhurried and unburdened enough to sleep with company. That was the peace she brought, a healing balm to his scarred and tainted soul, the beauty of her true and gentle heart.

In contrast, Brienne slept fitfully, restlessly, never closing her eyes for more than a few hours at a time. A result of many moons travelling through perilous regions, fraught with bandits, thugs, rapers and animal predators. For all her strength and skill, she was still a woman and a high-born one at that travelling with a boy for all the pretence of protection that offered. He had eased his conscience in the early days following her departure from King’s Landing with the knowledge that he had armed her with good steel, new armour and sent her out accompanied by a loyal squire. Podrick Payne, he thought with a soft snort. His brother's former squire. The boy was a young man now, no longer green and had some skill with a blade, his Lady had taught him well.

In the relative safety of Castle Black, their backs shielded by stone walls and the wooden door barred, he watched her murmur and toss in her sleep and jerk awake while reaching for her absent sword before she recognised his presence and she willed herself to relax. He mourned for her further lost innocence, every uncensored whimper cut at his heart. In his desperation to see her gone from King’s Landing, away from his father’s calculating eyes and Cersei’s growing curiosity, thinking it best that an honest and pure hearted soul as hers would only be tainted or killed if she stayed, he had not given enough thought to the dangers that lay in wait for her on the mad quest he had sent her on. For that is what it was. They had no real leads as to where Sansa had fled. And he had been truthful when he had told her that he had never believed that she would find Sansa. With consideration to the state in which they had left the Riverlands and Harrenhal, how could he have sent her out unprotected? He was a great fool. 

It was a miracle she had survived mostly unscathed. For while outwardly she bore few scars for the experience, he knew underneath was a different story, the unconscious muscle twitches, the way her eyes darted behind closed eyelids, her sleep position curled in on herself revealed the vulnerable woman that in waking hours appeared poised and hard, determined and unyielding, her woman’s heart safely hidden by layers of fur and Valyrian steel. In sleep, she made herself as small as possible. The only time she unfurled was while tucked against him. Jaime was only too happy to oblige her.

Though the strength of her embrace was which brought them to his current predicament. He badly needed to use the privy but he was locked within the long and inescapable limbs of a pale skinned kraken.

Thin pinpricks of daylight filtered through the black cloth they had hung over the castle window. They had rotating shifts manning the Wall. Sleep was snatched in daylight or when ever one could. Brienne had stumbled in fully dressed and was asleep before she had even kicked off both boots, Oathkeeper still strapped around her hips. He had finished his own shift from the watchtower at the gate of Castle Black and found her sprawled out that way. He had tenderly removed her belt, her boots and her outer layers, before undressing himself to join her under the covers. He had dozed for a few hours himself before waking to study her and he stretched his arm under their shared pillow, in a bid to work out the kinks of stiffness in his shortened limb. 

Her nose ghosted warm air at the hollow of his throat, while her short white blonde hair tickled his chin and he grinned to himself while he reached up with his left hand to try and flatten and tame her wiry locks. Her lean, firmly muscled arms were locked around his torso and one long shapely leg was hooked around his, her other thigh wedged between his legs, dangerously close to mashing his groin. The firm press of her bare skin so close to a delicate part of his anatomy stirred him to full arousal in seconds. He hissed when she moved to rest herself more firmly against him and wanted to growl at her in frustration when it was obvious from her deep and whistled breaths that she was still asleep and unaware of his discomfort. He was aroused and now desperate for relief on two fronts.

Their return to Castle Black had been a flight for their lives. Night closing in on them and with it a new plague of Wights and their masters. Jon reached the Wall first, blowing the horn to signal for them to open the gate. No sooner had they barrelled through the tunnel and clear the other side, did the unconscious Bran suddenly spring to loud wakefulness. He flailed and screamed as though being scorched alive, clutching at his arm. 

“What have you done!” he yelled at them. His eyes were round with alarm and finally fixed on Meera. “He marked me and now he's free. He marked me so he could break the enchantment of the Wall. The Wall can't hold him any longer. We are lost.”

He collapsed after that seemingly from over exertion and hunger, he really was reed thin. Meera started sobbing in despair and Brienne had ushered her away, with assurance that she would get them both to a healer. Eddison Tollett who held command of the Night’s Watch by near unanimous vote as the 999th Lord Commander, had sent for a Maester but one had yet to arrive from the Citadel. Sam had sent word that they had not one to spare, but that he was working diligently to earn his chains. And to learn all he could about the Night King and the war of the Long Night. In the meantime a healer that accompanied the Queen’s troops from King’s Landing had followed Jaime and Jon Snow to the Wall. Understanding that they would serve best at the frontline of battle.

Bran Stark’s damn proclamation proved true when two days later the assault on the Northern gate began. They set explosive fuel in the tunnel and collapsed it, seeing no alternative to stop the pending breech. The quiet that followed was cold comfort. For the Watch at the top of the Wall told them that countless numbers gathered at the foot of the North side of the Wall and the Night King himself waited at the bottom while piece by piece, ice and rock was removed from the barred path through.

They would break through eventually, and every hour they burned wights from reaching the top of the Wall. They did not have enough men and they were running out of fuel. Tormund and several others had gone to Old Town for more supplies while others went to Winterfell. Jon had sent a raven to every Lord south of the Wall to request aid but so far, only a few had answered. House Mormont sent food and bear cloaks, and twenty men, other Northern Houses sent what men they could spare while others stayed behind, determined to fortify and defend their holdings under news the Wall would not hold. The Vale pledged their army to fight with the new Queen’s army and they waited at Winterfell for orders. Tyrion said that Daenerys would not fly North unless their armies failed. 

Jaime wondered what she was waiting for, three dragons that spewed fire could lay waste to the wights in one night. Perhaps she was testing the resolve of the realm to fight for freedom. For the old Houses of Westeros to prove their bravery and loyalty. He knew his position at the Wall was exactly that. He had not forgotten his sentence.

“Love,” his whispered, grazing the tip of his finger down her crooked nose. She snuffled and grunted in her sleep and her thigh did bump him as she shifted away from his inquisitive touch.

Jaime growled at the sharp ache she had caused and put a stilling hand on her hip, his fingers digging slightly. “Careful, wench.”

Her eyes popped open and she almost headbutted him. He jerked his head clear in reflex, used to her abrupt wakefulness. Her hold loosened and he eased himself free and escaped to the curtained privy. “Much as I enjoy the feel of your delightful body, my dear heart, I wonder if I shouldn't be wearing padding to bed.”

A pillow flew through the curtain and narrowly avoided making a mess.

“Mind the chamber pot, Wench. We both know who would be cleaning up, since it would be a mite difficult one-handed.”

“I'm sure you'd manage,” she groused.

Jaime chuckled and washed his hands in the small basin, before collecting the fallen feathered pillow and returned to the bed. He crawled in, heedless of her frosty demeanour and kissed the patch of skin of her shoulder that was exposed by her loosened tunic. “I would hold you no matter how many stray elbows and knees I might collect, my lady.”

“I'm no lady,” she said her voice small and dismissive.

“Do you not hold lands? Are you not my woman?”

She blushed prettily at that, the color beginning at the open edges of her tunic revealing the tops of her glorious pale breasts and climbing all the way to her forehead. He followed the rosy path laid out for him and felt her contented sigh. She captured his face between her palms and met his lips. She spread her legs and with a nudge that set him off balance, had him pitching over her and promptly trapped between her strong thighs. He loved it when she took charge of their lovemaking. “I'm your woman, you silly fool. But I'm no one’s lady.”

He chuckled at her continued and vehement denial of her title. He had her, and against all sanity she loved him. That she wanted no part of an heiress’ dues would have to be one of the many quirks of hers that he would just have to concede defeat in. Much like her unconscious possessive grip of his person. Not that he protested too much, not at all really. 

As her arms wrapped about his shoulders, and the cradle of her thighs bracketed him firmly, each upward surge of her hips drawing him in deeper, her knees hooked under his arse, he was too lost to care what she wanted to be called. Her embrace was his bliss, his haven and his home. He loathed to be anywhere else.


End file.
